


The Meaning of Friendship

by Guanin



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3271991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was five years old, Jim’s mother had told him, “Don’t speak ill of others. It’s not nice. You can hurt their feelings.” Simple words to teach a child right and wrong. As an adult, the rules changed a bit. Jim barely remembered his mother’s lesson. But today, as he watched the betrayal overtake Oswald’s face at what Jim had just said about him, the memory struck him like an iron fist to the gut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meaning of Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by episode episode 13 and the interviews that Robin Lord Taylor and Ben McKenzie have been giving about Oswald and Jim's relationship.

When he was five years old, Jim’s mother had told him, “Don’t speak ill of others. It’s not nice. You can hurt their feelings.” Simple words to teach a child right and wrong. As an adult, the rules changed a bit. Jim barely remembered his mother’s lesson. But today, as he watched the betrayal overtake Oswald’s face at what Jim had just said about him, the memory struck him like an iron fist to the gut. 

The funny thing about speaking your mind was that you never knew when the subject of your conversation might show up and overhear every damning word. In Jim’s defense, he had never run into Oswald unexpectedly, so he could hardly predict that he should curb his opinions as he and Harvey made their way through the top floor of a department store downtown after interviewing the manager as a potential witness.

“Too bad your pal Cobblepot can’t help you out with this one,” Harvey said.

“He’s not my pal. Not exactly. He’s useful. I’m nice to him and he helps me out. It works. You should try that with Nygma.”

“Nygma is contractually obligated to be help me. I don’t need to pretend to be his friend.”

“Pretending makes things smoother. Just saying.”

Harvey stopped walking. Jim turned to him, frowning. 

“What is it?” he asked.

Harvey was staring at something to their left with an “oh, shit” expression. That something turned out to be Oswald standing in front of a table of boxed, silver jewelry, looking like Jim had just spit on him. Fuck.

“I don’t think pretending is going to get you out of this one,” Harvey said. 

Oswald stepped back, stumbling into the display behind him, eyes fixed on Jim as if unwilling to accept the evidence his vision was foisting on him, misery written plainly on his face. He started rushing away and Jim jogged after him.

“Oswald,” he called out.

His only reply was Oswald quickening his step.

“Oswald, please. Let’s talk about this.”

“So that you can lie to me some more? No.”

Reaching the elevator, Oswald pressed the down button. The doors opened immediately and Oswald ducked inside. Jim followed him, earning a wounded glare for it.

“Get out,” Oswald said.

“Not until we talk.”

Oswald’s mouth twisted. Jim had never had this poisonous expression directed at him before. Oswald was always happy to see him, cheerful, eager to please. 

“Fine,” Oswald said, stabbing the Ground floor button. “Stay. I don’t care. But I’m not talking to you.”

The doors closed. Crossing his arms firmly over his chest, Oswald turned away from Jim to face the wall.

“Oswald.”

No reaction.

“What you heard, it didn’t come out right.”

Still nothing.

“Look, I know I’ve never contradicted you when you’ve called us friends, but I don’t really… I don’t see us as those kind of friends. We’re work friends.”

“Work friends.” Oswald finally turned around, his face filled with so much virulent anger that it made Jim wish that he had stayed put. “Enlighten me. Is that what one calls someone whose presence you tolerate only to further your own gain in the course of your career, but resent having to endure outside of a business context?”

“I… I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“But that is what you mean, isn’t it? You only put up with me when you need my help in closing a case.”

“Oswald, I deeply appreciate everything that you have done for me—“

“Oh, I’m sure you appreciate it. Yet not enough to appreciate me.”

The elevator shuddered, the lights blinking for a long second, then it stopped moving. Oh, you had to be kidding. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” Oswald mumbled, panic rising with every syllable. He pressed the Ground button, which had turned off. Nothing happened. 

“Ah, great,” Jim mumbled, pressing the Help button. Nothing. Either that wasn’t working, either, or whoever was supposed to be on the other side wasn’t answering. 

“This can’t be happening again,” Oswald said, shrinking against the wall, his hands scrabbling at the panels to steady himself, his breath quick and shallow. “I can’t be stuck in an elevator again. And with you.”

“Are you okay?” Jim asked, frowning at him. “Are you claustrophobic?”

“Please spare me your false concern. No, I’m not claustrophobic. I merely don’t enjoy being trapped, especially with someone who only pretended to be my friend so that he could use me.”

“That’s not how it is.”

“Of course that’s how it is. Just like the kids in school who only played nice with me when they needed help with homework or to study for a test. My grades were better than theirs, you see. But what happened as soon as the test was done? They ignored me again. Except for the ones who mocked me.”

Ah, hell. No wonder Oswald was so mad at him. Jim just had to go and reopen old wounds. In Oswald’s eyes, Jim was no better than a callous child, mindful only of his own selfishness.

“Oswald, we’re not at school. I’m not one of those kids. I’m really sorry that I let you think that we’re closer than we actually are. It was mean and underhanded of me. I should have corrected you when I visited you about Flass. I needed your help and I didn’t want to jeopardize my chances. I’m sorry.”

Oswald scrunched the side of his mouth. His breath had calmed, at least, his hands no longer shaking. Slowly, he raised his head and nodded, though his eyes only met Jim’s for a moment before turning away again.

“I appreciate you saying that,” he said. “But, after we get out of here, I don’t want you to contact me again.”

“That’s fair.”

Not being able to depend on Oswald’s aid would significantly undermine his ability to do his job, but he couldn’t insist after he had fucked up so badly. He checked his phone. No reception. Great.

“Does your phone have reception?” he asked. 

Oswald pulled out his phone.

“No.”

Jim tried the Help button again, with the same lackluster result. 

“We’re at the mercy,” Oswald said, “of whoever notices that the elevator isn’t coming when summoned. Fantastic.”

“Someone should notice soon. It’s a busy store.”

They stood in silence for a while. Jim felt like he should be taking advantage of the time to convince Oswald to salvage some part of their working relationship, but he had taken enough advantage as it was. Probing now would only push Oswald further away. 

“You know,” Oswald said, looking down at his hands. “When you came in about Flass, I got the impression that you didn’t consider us friends when you asked what you owed me in return. I guess I hoped that, if I offered you my friendship, in time, you would accept it.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize your offer for what it was.”

“You found it more expedient to pretend.”

Jim slouched against the wall, dropping his hands in his pant pockets. He didn’t even try to defend himself.

“What would you have done for me?” Oswald asked.

“What?”

“When you asked what you owed me, you were willing to do me some favor. I’m just wondering what you would have been willing to do.”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought it through. I wasn’t going to give you a blank check. I guess it depended on what you asked.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have taxed you too much. I know you’re a man of principles.” 

“Why do you want to be my friend? At first, I though that you wanted me to use my position as a cop to help you, but you never asked me for anything.”

“You saved my life. Twice. Why wouldn’t I want to be your friend?”

“But neither of those were selfless acts. The first time, I didn’t want to become a murderer, especially not at Falcone’s orders. I’m not an executioner. And the second time, Maroni threatened to reveal our secret to Falcone. Although what that thug said about cutting off your head and putting it in a bag did sicken me to my stomach.”

“Regardless of your motivations, you still saved me. No one else has done anything like that for me. I was so grateful. Even now. I’m furious at you, but I’m still grateful.”

“I guess that’s why you haven’t punched me, huh?”

“I suppose that I could swallow my feelings of gratitude and punch you. Perhaps it might make me feel better.”

“Or it might just bruise your knuckles and hurt your hand. I have a hard face.”

Oswald dropped his head against the wall.

“I suppose. You’re not worth it, anyway.”

Maybe he was right.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Jim said. 

“No. Technically, I don’t.”

Wait, what?

“What do you mean by that?”

Oswald shrugged.

“You saved my life. I saved yours.”

“When did you save my life?”

“When Falcone wanted to kill you, silly. Did you really think that I would willingly jeopardize your life by showing up at the police station without making guarantees? By rights, Falcone should have kept you alive out of gratitude. My living helped him so much, after all. But no one could know that he wanted me alive, so he had to make an example of you, but I implored him to leave you alive at the end of it. I asked him, as a favor in exchange of my good work, not to harm you. When he fetched you to talk, he really meant just talk.”

_Oh my God._

“That’s why… That’s why he let me go. I couldn’t understand it. Me. Harvey. We broke into his house. I pointed my gun straight at his face. It made no sense for him to let me live. He didn’t even demand anything in exchange. That was you. The only reason we’re alive is because of you.”

And he hadn’t lorded it over Jim. Never used it as leverage, never made him feel obligated to him. It would have stayed a secret for the rest of their lives. Oswald’s act might have been prompted by gratitude, but his silent dismissal of any debt between them, that had been selfless. All that Oswald had asked in return was to be his friend. And Jim had thrown that request in his face. Always, of the two of them, he was the one who stood on the moral high ground, but not this time. Even now, Oswald didn’t look smug. This was the perfect time to drive the dagger home, yet he wasn’t jubilant. Instead, he looked sad.

“I’m so sorry for how I treated you,” Jim said. “Thank you. I wish that I had known so I could have thanked you earlier." 

That made Oswald look even more wretched. 

“I don’t need you to thank me.”

“I would be even more of an asshole if I didn’t.”

“Jim, why are you apologizing now? You owe me nothing. You never have. Don’t apologize because you feel like you have to even things out between us. I will not accept friendship given only as a pity prize or to assuage your guilt. I didn’t want you to die. That was all. You… I thought you were my friend. Why wouldn’t I do everything in my power to save my friend?”

Jim covered his face with his hands, trying in vain to find some argument that favored hi, but there was none. He had been a selfish, manipulative jerk. How had he wound up in this situation, where the gangster who killed without a second thought had acted more decently than him? It had been need that had driven him back to Oswald, pure and simple. At that moment, Oswald had been the lesser evil. He had become a tool in Jim’s arsenal, to be used when all other avenues had failed. Going along with Oswald’s insistence of friendship had simply been expedient. If Oswald wanted to project companiable illusions that weren’t actually there, fine by him. As long as it got the job done, he hadn’t cared. Worrying about the emotional well being of a mobster hadn’t been on his list of priorities. 

Yet, looking at him now, seeing the abject sadness suffusing his face, the upset turn of his mouth, the tremor in his right hand that he sought to hide by squeezing it into the nook of his left elbow with his arms crossed, his body slouched against the wall, shoulders sagged, head held upright probably out of only fierce stubbornness and pride, Jim realized how vulnerable Oswald was. Jim had held his life in his hands. Oswald had begged and cried, offering up everything if only Jim would allow him to keep breathing. Yet he had been begging at the club, too, with his joyful smile and his giddy demeanor, this time for comradery that Jim would never consider giving him. God, Oswald had been so happy to see him. He couldn’t make sense of that. They were nothing to each other but accidental acquaintances forced together by the mob’s never ending cycle of death. Nothing more. What could possess Oswald to view their relationship any differently? If every person whose life he saved in the course of his duty became his friend, Jim’s social life would be so busy that he wouldn’t have time to sleep. 

A thought came to him, so pitiable that it hadn’t occurred to him before.

“Oswald, do you have any friends?”

The glare that Oswald shot him was so deadly that it could have pierced through the steel at Jim’s back.

“That is none of your business, but since you apparently can’t help being hurtful today, I’ll tell you. No. I had one, but he turned out to be a liar.”

Jim stared at him, speechless. 

“Now please leave me alone,” Oswald said, turning his head away. “I’m tired of talking to you.”

````````````````  
After maintenance let them out of the elevator twenty minutes later, Oswald left without another word. Jim watched him exit the store, regret filling him as the door shut behind Oswald. 

```````````  
Two weeks passed without any communication occurring between them. Not that this was unusual. Jim hardly required his aid in every case, nor did he need it now, but when he saw the date on the morning news as he got dressed for work, his hands paused on his tie before he finished tightening the knot. Oswald’s birthday was today. Jim had seen it on his file months ago when he looked him up in the police database. It turned out that Oswald had been a pickpocket back in his youth, before he moved up to deadlier things. That date hadn’t meant anything to him then, but it had stuck in his mind, filed for later. Now those little numbers at the bottom, right corner of the screen were all he could see, a reminder of that disastrous encounter at the store. On his birthday, Jim got plenty of calls and emails from friends and family wishing him a happy birthday, but Oswald had no friends. Did he have any family beside his mother? His file hadn’t mentioned any, nor had he himself. Would anyone beside her say “happy birthday” to him? His work colleagues, probably, but only out of politeness. They weren’t friends. They didn’t actually care. Jim shouldn’t, either. Oswald had been a means to an end. His police record should contain a lot more than a couple of counts of theft, but he had learned to cover his tracks. The first time that they met, he had been beating a man, for God’s sake. Yet Jim couldn’t erase the memory of Oswald staring at Jim like he had just ripped out one of his lungs and thrown it at his feet. 

Moreover, Jim owed him his life. Harvey’s life. Probably also Barbara’s life. Oswald may have only interceded on Jim’s behalf, but in action, he had saved all three of them. Yet, not once, had he held it over Jim’s head. The least that Jim could do was wish him a happy birthday. 

A phone call was too little, too lazy. Only a personal visit would do, but for that, he required a present. At a loss as to what Oswald wanted or needed, Jim bought him a bottle of white wine. Oswald and he had shared some plenty of times together at Oswald’s insistence. Jim had always acquiesced out of common courtesy. He had enjoyed it, though. Oswald always offered him excellent vintages. His conversation wasn’t half bad, either. It wasn’t guaranteed that Oswald would be at the club, but it was enough of a safe bet to drop by unannounced during Jim’s lunch hour. Usually, Jim called ahead, but this time it was very likely that Oswald wouldn’t pick up the phone. The employees knew him by now and they let him enter with only a “Good afternoon, Detective Gordon.” Oswald hadn’t barred his entry. Perhaps he would rather that no one knew that they had a falling out. The club wouldn’t open for a few hours, so only the employees were around, preparing for the opening. And Oswald. Jim found him sitting at one of the booths going over paperwork, so reminiscent of the second time that Jim had seen him that he couldn’t help but smile. Oswald had been sitting at the front counter then, his hair an unruly tussle, his suit of an inferior make, marking him as an employee and not an owner unlike what his current, perfectly tailored combination denoted. He glanced up as Jim approached, brows rising, jaw dropping in surprise. 

“Jim, what are you doing here?” he said, voice low, not wanting the others to overhear. “I told you not to contact me again.”

“I know.” Jim raised his left hand in apology, keeping his voice equally low. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… I know it’s your birthday and, despite what happened, I wanted to say happy birthday.” He placed the wine bottle on the table. Oswald regarded it with a skeptical glower. “I mean it sincerely. I’m not looking for anything from you. Just… I hope you have a good one.”

At a loss for what else to say, Jim started walking away. Well, that had been the weakest birthday wish he had ever given anyone. 

“Can I just say,” Jim said, turning back to Oswald. “I’m really sorry I was a jerk to you. I shouldn’t have—“

He stopped, realizing that he had raised his voice to a regular volume and that one of the waiters who was prepping the tables was watching them from the corner of his eye. The man quickly hustled away at Oswald’s glare. As soon as he did, Oswald swaitched that glare to Jim, who wasn’t sure whether he should keep talking or declare the whole attempt a loss, but Oswald rolled his eyes and collapsed back against his seat.

“Oh, do sit down, will you?” he said. 

Jim did, relieved. Oswald contemplated him for a long while, as if deciding whether to roast him for lunch or to let him go free. 

“I made my wishes very clear to you,” he said.

Jim lowered his head, the picture of contrition.

“I know.”

“Yet you’re callous enough to utterly disregard them to assuage your conscience.”

Aw, crap.

“I’m not here for me.”

“Are you certain about that? After all, every meeting that you have initiated has been about you.”

Jim gazed at the wine bottle, realizing how paltry of an offering it was.

“I realize that. And I am sorry. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how we left things, and when I saw that it’s your birthday today, I didn’t want the day to go buy without making some sort of gesture. I don’t want you to think that I don’t regret it. I do. You don’t have to drink the wine. You can ignore me after this if you want. I just wanted you to know.”

Oswald considered this, gripping the pen in his hand against the table. He looked at Jim, then the bottle, and waved over a waiter. 

“Stephen,” he said when the man arrived. “Could you open this and bring us two glasses, please?”

“Of course, Mr. Cobblepot.”

As the waiter left with the bottle, Oswald looked back at Jim. 

“No one has apologized for mistreating me before,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

Jim nodded.

“I hope that we can put this behind us.”

Oswald emitted a soft snort. 

“You want your mob insider back, do you?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” How did he keep fucking this up? “Okay, I can see how that came out wrong. I don’t need you to keep doing favors for me if you don’t want to. I won’t ask you for anything again, I promise. I just… I don’t know. I wasn’t fair to you. I was selfish and inconsiderate and I would like you to forgive me. I’m not sure what else you want me to say.”

Wait. Was Oswald smiling? He had ducked his head, lips tugging up at the sides as he pressed them together, obviously smothering a smile.

“You find this amusing, don’t you?” Jim asked.

“I must say, I am enjoying watching you grovel immensely. It is quite a novel experience.”

“Well, if begging was what it took, you should have told me earlier.”

“But then, it would hardly have been genuine, would it?”

“Fair point.”

The waiter returned with the opened bottle and the glasses, pouring the wine before returning to his prep work. Jim watched with trepidation as Oswald picked up his glass and took a sip. He wasn’t grimacing, so he didn’t hate it.

“It’s good,” he said. “Thank you.”

Jim sagged in relief. Great..

“So am I forgiven?”

Oswald’s expression sobered again.

“I’m not sure.”

“Come on. What do you want me to do? I can’t take back what I said. More groveling? Some public humiliation? For me to sing you a song saying how sorry I am?”

Oh, shit. No, oh, no. There was an intrigued glimmer in Oswald’s eyes. He was grinning again.

“I take that last one back,” Jim said. 

“Oh, no. You can’t. You already offered.”

Oswald slid out of the booth, climbed up the stage, and dragged the microphone on its stand to the center. Jim scrambled after him. 

“Oswald, you don’t want me to sing, really. I have a horrible singing voice. It’s all gravelly and unpleasant.”

“Jim, do you want me to forgive you?”

“Well… Yes.”

Although he was starting to wonder if it was worth the bother. 

“If you sing for me with your horrible singing voice, I will forgive you. Consider it penance, if you will. And it is my birthday. You did wish me a happy birthday. This will bring me joy, I assure you. Now get up here.”

Ah, hell. Just short of groaning out loud, Jim made his way up the stage. Why was he doing this? He’d promised Oswald not to ask for more favors, so he gained nothing from this. All he had aimed to do was to make a nice gesture, say his “I’m sorry”s and leave. But as Oswald descended from the stage and rushed to stand right below Jim, Jim realized something. That smile. It was the same, happy smile with which Oswald had greeted him every time that he came by for the last four months, the smile that demonstrated how very pleased being able to call Jim “friend” made him. And, for the first time, Jim wasn’t perplexed by it. He understood why Oswald did everything that Jim asked of him without question, why he always offered Jim the best wine, the best food, the best seat in the house. Why Oswald always sought his company with such enthusiasm. Why he wanted Jim to be his friend. 

“Alright,” Jim said, raising the mic to his height.

“Now,” Oswald said, “we’re not set up for karaoke, so I’m afraid you’ll have to go a cappella.”

“Okay. Any preferences?”

“Something that will make me laugh.”

Right. Well, the Rolling Stones were out. Most of the songs he knew were rock songs, none of which would make Oswald laugh, unless the dissonance of his voice was enough. There was just one other option. He really didn’t want to use that option, but there was no other song that he knew well enough that might make Oswald laugh. All that he could hope for was that the employees (who had started staring at him as soon as he got on the stage) wouldn’t go around telling their friends how Detective James Gordon had sung the theme song for The Emperor’s New Groove at Oswald’s club. 

Halfway through the first stanza, Oswald’s smile widened in recognition. By the second, he was chuckling. Soon, he had to cover his mouth to keep his laughter in check, doubling over as Jim belowed, “Kuzcooooo!” The employees in the background were laughing, too, but Jim kept his eyes on Oswald when he didn’t close them as he questioned his life choices for the tenth time within the last minute. 

After the last “Kuzco”, Jim stepped away from the mic, red faced and grimacing at how embarrassing that had been. God, his voice was truly atrocious. Yet watching Oswald guffawing somehow kept it from being too bad. It had been a little fun to inspire such joyful laughter in someone. He even did a little bow when Oswald clapped. 

“Your voice really is awful,” Oswald said. “But that was wonderful. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Am I forgiven?”

Oswald nodded, chuckling, not a trace of sadness on his face.

“You’re forgiven.”

And that made this all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> These are the lyrics to the theme song of _The Emperor's New Groove_ :
> 
> There are despots and dictators  
> Political manipulators  
> There are blue bloods with the intellects of fleas  
> There are kings and petty tyrants  
> Who are so lacking in refinements  
> They'd be better suited swinging from the trees
> 
> He was born and raised to rule  
> No one has ever been this cool  
> In a thousand years of aristocracy  
> An enigma and a mystery  
> In Meso American History  
> The quintessence of perfection that is he
> 
> He's the sovereign lord of the nation  
> He's the hippest dude in creation  
> He's a hep cat in the emperor's new clothes  
> Years of such selective breeding  
> Generations have been leading  
> To this miracle of life that we all know
> 
> What's his name?  
> Kuzco, Kuzco, Kuzco...
> 
> He's the sovereign lord of the nation  
> He's the hippest cat in creation  
> He's the alpha, the omega, a to z  
> And this perfect world will spin  
> Around his every little whim  
> 'Cause this perfect world begins and ends with him
> 
> What's his name?  
> Kuzco, Kuzco, Kuzco...


End file.
